


Adult Play Time

by oly_chic



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Electricity, Fire, Needles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2018-01-22
Packaged: 2019-02-14 12:01:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13007352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oly_chic/pseuds/oly_chic
Summary: Random stories about different types of play or games mechs engage in to satisfy their needs. Character list to grow as I see fit.I wanted to write little stories without having to worry about continuity, so I am. Plus I only have tiny fic-writing breaks for now.





	1. Needles (Prowl & Jazz)

**Author's Note:**

> Characters: Jazz & Prowl (PJ relationship as you see fit)  
> Summary: Prowl needs to feel the Cybertronian endorphins, along with some heavy emotions, and Jazz knows a controlled way to give it to him.

A post-battle burdened Prowl quivered as he rested face down on his berth as Jazz prepared his needle kit by Prowl’s helm. The anticipation always made him twitch because he never knew what to fully expect. He knew the rush of endorphins would come after the small individual moments of pain, usually after the fourth. By the fourth or fifth it would be accompanied with a mental sensation of floating in a warm fog. None of that made him twitch, rather it made for a wanted anticipation, but it was the triggered emotions that made him nervous.

“Okay, done,” Jazz announced from the end table, his needles splayed out, organized by gauge. Each gauge had a uniquely colored cap, and Prowl knew they would stick out on his simplistic paint job. “Ready?”

“Ready,” Prowl nearly whispered.

“Okay, I’m starting just underneath your doorwing joint.”

There were two places to put the needles: in the skin of the armor or in the muscle cables. Whichever location he picked resulted in various pain levels and triggered endorphins and emotions differently. Prowl deliberately didn’t ask which Jazz would pick, as he never did. That was half the effects Jazz had, surprising Prowl as he expertly applied them to do exactly what Prowl needed. Jazz’s Special Ops training taught him different methods of eliciting emotions and physical reactions, and this one seemed to work the best on the “emotionless” Prowl. It prevented an onslaught of uncontrolled emotions Prowl was ill-equipped to handle, and it was always accompanied by a sense of euphoria that Prowl solemnly felt outside of a precious moments with his few personal relationships.

A small needle passed through the surface of the armor skin, poking out at both ends, and Prowl hardly felt it. In a way he was disappointed because Jazz was starting off easy with him. It would take more than four needles to hit that natural high with the current needle size and location.

“You can go larger,” Prowl suggested, trying to keep the yearning out of his voice.

“Easy there, mech, I’m just getting started. With you being, how shall we say, this wound up, it’s going to take some patience and work.”

Prowl waited patiently as Jazz applied the next three needles swiftly, all close to the first one. Then the next one slipped behind the same armor location and slid through a muscle cable. Prowl lightly groaned at the simple pain, his groan more pleasure at knowing what would soon come.

True to his expectations when three more went into the same area, Prowl could feel uncontrollable tremors of the first endorphin wave and a foggy sort of floatiness coated his mind. His tac-set started to fade away, the battle results burdening his mind less. It was still there, but he could feel at least a 5% decrease in processor usage.

Prowl’s partner kept going, moving to the same area under the other doorwing and repeated the pattern. Jazz murmured, maintaining a quiet environment as he recognized the effects on Prowl, “I’m going to start working my way down your back and then to your doorwings. I’m thinking we’ll go to 75 needles total, most in muscle cables.”

Prowl, reveling in the first tastes of peace, half-consciously spoke, “Whatever you think is best.” There was a reverence he had for Jazz’s ability to control him when Prowl would otherwise give none to anyone. His faith in Jazz’s ability to give Prowl exactly what he wanted – needed – and not tip him over into a mental and emotional drop was not questioned.

Jazz worked methodically, sometimes swiftly and other times slowly as he gradually increased the inserted needle gauges and built patterns around areas he knew would trigger the right reactions. Between each insertion he watched Prowl’s trembling body language, well versed in how the tactician reacted to too much pain from bigger gauges and too much emotion from placement.

Prowl was blissfully unaware of Jazz’s actions the further Jazz continued, dully aware of the pain. It never ruined that peaceful fog, gradually blocked the taxing tac-set sending him harrowing data on how he could have done better and saved his troops from from Medbay trips. So many were injured, and his tac-set couldn’t let that go. Never mind that the Decepticons had the upper-hand right from the beginning, and that the Autobots has less troops than normal, thanks to a Human issue. No, that churning, blazing data couldn’t reach him beyond the fog of euphoric bliss.

He thought of Bluestreak, but not of the injuries the sniper suffered when Skywarp came up from behind him. Instead he thought of the last time he had a moment of tranquility with his friend. Bluestreak and he spent joors reminiscing about Praxus as they watched an Iacon film set in Praxus, chuckling at what wrong and appreciating what was right. The memories felt fresh even though it had been a lengthy time since Prowl even had a chance to feel harmony with someone, even with himself. Right now he felt it all.

As Jazz progressed, Prowl felt that peace become bravery, a bravery to face what was hurting him the most. Now that data didn’t block off emotions, he could feel those that haunted him waiting to pierce the fog. Prowl could wait until the fog faded, if Jazz didn’t push triggering those emotions, but then he knew Jazz would do so. It was best for Prowl to face those emotions in his current state rather than when coming back down.

Fear, failure, and fatigue were all waiting for him, waiting to pull him down until he gave in and buried himself into his desk work. Prowl resisted, telling them firmly no. His tremors changed for a moment, as fear was the first to go after him, and he was dimly aware that Jazz had stopped. The saboteur would be watching him to see how to proceed. Prowl pushed back, refusing the images of a deactivated-filled Medbay, thoughts plagued that it was all thanks to him. The fear was unfounded, no one was that gravely injured. He had done his best and their numbers were ultimately better than his tac-set originally projected. He did not fail them, he did not fail himself.

Fatigue was a different matter, for it beckoned him to chain himself to his desk until the tiredness grew so great that he could recharge knowing he’d given his entire self over to the cause. As the tremors returned to their original form, Prowl felt Jazz pick up where he left off on Prowl’s doorwings. Needles on sensitive doorwing parts were almost corporeal, where the pain turned pleasurable fast as the delicate system worked to keep away distractions doorwings were known for being. He would rest soon, after the endorphins left him spent, and he told himself that he would not give into Fatigue’s call to wear himself almost beyond function.

Prowl braved the three monsters in his mind and sank into the pleasurable peace flooding his systems. The tactician could maintain that for joors, if only Jazz would let him.

However, Jazz was not about to spend joors covering Prowl in needles. He knew the after effects would be disastrous. The mech standing above Prowl watched carefully, wishing he could see his partner’s face but knowing how to interpret Prowl’s state without that option. When he saw Prowl’s tremors begin to taper off, he came to a stop and admired his work. Colorful lines and circles adorned Prowl’s armor, and Jazz knew similar line patterns existed on Prowl’s cables. He actually only went to 67 needles, but he felt no need to finish. Jazz gave Prowl a few breems to enjoy the rush before he bent down to whisper in Prowl’s audial, “Time to remove them.”

“No,” Prowl moaned.

“I have to, or else you’ll drop.”

Prowl moaned again but did not resist. He disliked removing them, and not only because it would slowly bring him back to reality, back to his calculating tac-set. The pulling sensation of them being removed was strange and partially uncomfortable.

Jazz moved as quickly as he dared, not wanting to press his luck by being too fast nor prolonging Prowl’s state. There were trace amounts of energon along Prowl’s muscle cables, but nothing a cloth couldn’t wipe away. When he was done he ran his hands lightly along the puncture marks on Prowl’s frame. If one didn’t know better, the marks were unseen. No one would notice the miniscule marks after a battle, anyway.

The saboteur murmured kind words as his hands brushed Prowl’s frame, waiting for the tremors to stop and for Prowl to relax. This was why he did it, to know Prowl would come back to him in better shape.

When Prowl stopped shaking and started moving with deliberate motions, Jazz nudged him and asked him to roll over. Prowl did so and offered Jazz a small, soft smile. “Time to rest, Prowler,” Jazz answered the smile.

Jazz kept speaking caring words, gradually dropping his voice until it was almost silent and Prowl’s optics were offline. When Jazz was sure Prowl was in a deep recharge, he gathered his needles and let himself out, feeling his own peace of mind.


	2. Fire (Sunstreaker and Sideswipe)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sideswipe gets to play with fire on Sunstreaker.

Sideswipe was giddy as he looked over his fire supplies, a container with alcohol, his metal sticks with cotton for his two batons, and his small open flame. It wasn’t often Sunstreaker would let him do this, to play with fire on him. Sure, Sunstreaker would be on his back so he could watch Sideswipe but Sideswipe knew he was trusted as far as Sunstreaker could trust anyone with his paint job. The more energetic twin had been bugging his beauty queen of a twin to do this for what felt like forever, but was probably only a few megaorns.

Sunstreaker, meanwhile, was watching his brother with a weary optic. He wasn’t afraid, nor giddy like his twin, but he had his own level of eagerness. There was something about getting a rush of excitement without having to resort to violence (or looking at himself in the mirror after a particularly thorough buffing) that appealed to him. He only held off so that he didn’t become accustom to it and have the effects wear off.

“I’m ready,” Sideswipe announced.

“Of course you are,” Sunstreaker grumbled, playing off his own thoughts. He obeyed the ritual and laid down on the berth, taking a deep in-vent to cycle his systems.

“Here we go,” Sideswipe cheerfully rushed.

First thing the red twin does was the typical fire blow. He picked up his baton, dipped it into the alcohol, and shook it free of the excess to avoid uncontrolled flames. Next he touched it in against the open flame. The result was alcohol-soaked cotton lighting on fire. Sideswipe turned back to Sunstreaker and blew the flames close to Sunstreaker’s body, not letting the flame touch.

It was like being hugged by a blanket, wherever the flame nearly grazed. It was wonderful to Sunstreaker to feel warm without it being the fresh energon sprayed from his enemy. Sure, he could wrap himself in an actual blanket, but his pride kept him from looking like Bluestreaker after a vivid nightmare.

Sideswipe kept blowing the flame until his first baton burned out, so he dropped it back into the alcohol and repeated the lighting for the next baton. He did the same until it too burned out. It was time to move onto what gave Sunstreaker a rush without the threat to his life.

Picking up the first one and re-lighting it, Sideswipe readied his wool towel in case something went wrong. He sat it down close by and held his baton over Sunstreaker’s chassis. He tapped it against the yellow chassis and ran his other hand over the flame burning the alcohol away on Sunstreaker, smothering the flame before it could burn through all the alcohol and into paint. He was starting off easy on Sunstreaker by instantly smothering out the flame, doing so as a warm up for both of them,  instead of it giving it a chance to burn off all the  alcohol and just barely avoid singing paint. He would though, given a little more time.

Sunstreaker felt the excitement begin building as he watched, glimmer of it at first as Sideswipe simply tapped and smothered, but after a half breem Sideswipe started making designs of figure eights and stars all over Sunstreaker’s body. That meant the flame ran a little bit longer. Sunstreaker ‘s pump was moving faster. Normally he’d threaten to maul anyone who put his paint at risk, but this was his one exception – in part because his paint job had never actually been damaged. Sideswipe was good.

They kept going until the alcohol was too low to fully soak the cotton, which was only a few breems. Sunstreaker feed off of the rush of his pump while Sideswipe enjoyed the control and trust, as well as his more juvenile side having fun with designs.

There was a short cool down period because Sideswipe almost didn’t catch the low alcohol levels. Like how he started, he blew fire again. There wasn’t much he could do to give Sunstreaker a chance to come down from his rush while still continuing.

Sideswipe hastily put out the flame and squeezed onto the berth as Sunstreaker moved over. He gave his twin a long hug, waiting out Sunstreaker’s return to normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not fond of this one but I tried.


	3. Make Me Electric (Drift/Prowl) (Explicit)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's almost time for the Lost Light to leave, but Drift has one more word to say to Prowl. That's what he intended, anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know either and I'm not sorry.

Drift rocked on his peds in his quarters, the one he was about to leave behind for life on the Lost Light. His belongings were mostly packed and ready to be moved, saved a few delicate items that needed better storage containers. None of that was his focus, other than avoiding the boxes.

There were two mechs whose very subject could bother him in some manner, positively or negatively, and this time it was Rodimus. It wasn't necessarily Rodimus's fault, but rather Prowl's. Now that Overlord was safely locked away on board the LL with no one besides leadership the wiser, Drift had time to think about how he felt about that instead of worrying about being caught.

He stopped moving and tried to meditate on his one free pillow, to find clarity within his conflicted feelings. The meditation only lasted a couple of breems before Drift concluded what was needed wasn't further meditation but action. Drift comm'ed the one mech he thought needed action. ::Prowl.::

The response was delayed, almost as if Prowl was planning to ignore him but changed his mind the last klik. ::What is it, Drift?::

::We need to talk.::

::We are talking,:: Prowl dryly pointed out.

:: _In person_ ,:: Drift replied, almost snappish for the level-helmed mech.

::Meet me in my office in a half joor.::

::No, meet me in my quarters. I want to talk where there's less ped-traffic.::

There was a very noticeable pause. Drift theorized that Prowl was thinking of all the different ways that could go wrong for him. The swordsmech elaborated, ::It's about a certain mech who's name shall not be mentioned on standard comms, and I would rather avoid the interruptions that can come with your office.::

::I see. I'll be there in a half joor.::

Drift returned to meditating, this time a little calmer since something was finally happening and now he needed to plan for it. Getting angry at Prowl rarely did anything productive. He stayed that way, meditating and considering his opening until there was a ping at his door.

The door opened at his command and in stepped Prowl, his expression neutral and his body language rigid. Prowl gazed around the room as the door closed. "I see you haven't finished moving. Having doubts?"

"We're not here to talk about me," Drift refused to indulge Prowl's theory that few would actually join the LL's mission. "I want to talk about how you twisted Rodimus's arm to get Overlord onto the Lost Light."

"I did no such thing. All I did was talk about the logic of getting Overlord off Cybertron. I know it's hard to recognize when Rodimus understands and follows logic, given what a rare sighting it is."

Insulting Drift's best friend was not a good idea, but the swordsmech had better self-control than to react violently, like some mechs did to Prowl. "Don't call Rodimus a fool. He's twice the mech you are when it comes to understanding others, and doesn't manipulate others."

"I put mechs where they're best useful. Sometimes they need convincing," Prowl rebutted.

Drift stepped closer and pointed up at Prowl, his finger almost laying against Prowl's chassis. "You do that all through manipulation. I wouldn't be surprised if you used physical tactics to get the job done."

"Like what?"

"Like the kind that involves doorwings and other body parts, if you know what I mean," Drift replied, still not dropping his finger.

“I didn’t know you were such a prude. Go ahead and say it,” the strategist challenged.

“Fine, doorwings, valves, spikes, whatever. I bet if someone were to grab your doorwings first, though, maybe you’d find yourself on your knees first.”

"Do that and I'll grab your finials and see who ends up on their knees first."

"I doubt you know how to touch them right," the swordsman issued his own challenge.

Prowl pressed his lips. "I've had partners with finials."

"Right, one-time partners I'm sure. There's no way to know if you can perform well enough for someone to come back a second time."

Prowl reacted faster than he frowned and reached up to quickly but softly caressed Drift's finial. Drift gasped and his pointing hand immediately snapped away before going for Prowl's doorwing. Prowl's frown disappeared when he gasped and his doorwing moved into the touch. Both thought about pulling away but neither could. It had been longer than they were willing to admit.

The black-and-white mech ran his thumb along Drift’s finial, his touch softer than Drift thought Prowl capable of being. Drift returned the touch on Prowl’s doorwings, knowing from his own escapades where the sensitive spots were located. He rubbed his own thumb along the seams.

Stifling a moan, Prowl ran his other hand along Drift’s jaw and up to the ignored final, caressing both together. Drift was swept up in the tingling feeling and almost leaned in for a kiss before remembering this was a mech who angered him a moment ago. Instead he ran his other hand up Prowl’s opposite side and played with his waist seam.

Unlike Drift, Prowl felt no need to kiss his comrade. What he needed was more touch for he was starved for positive physical attention. He stepped closer, almost into Drift’s arms, and began dancing his hands down to Drift’s chassis, his touches alternating between soft and firm.

Drift’s body was warming up, especially wherever Prowl’s hands touched during their random pattern. It was almost electric. Suddenly he had an idea, but first he had to get Prowl in the mood, if there was a chance of it working. Now that Prowl’s doorwings were in easy reach, he started tracing the edges while taking breaks to flirt with Prowl’s neck.

The pair kept touching each other, Prowl’s hands drifting down to Drift’s hips and igniting their want for something more. Prowl said in a low voice, “If you’re going to tease the edges, you might as well tease the back side.”

Drift’s optics darken, knowing what Prowl was asking. The back of the doorwings were more sensitive, systems set to sense danger behind them. Prowl would soon be ready for his suggestion. “Turn around.”

Prowl did so, taking a small step so Drift could touch his doorwings more comfortably. His hands wandered behind him, running up and down Drift’s thick thighs and hips. Drift fought thrusting his hips forward into the touch, his self-discipline training strained. He touched Prowl’s doorwings with the right amount of firmness on the sensors and seams, earning him a mewling from Prowl.

He didn’t want to be the only one mewling at a touch, so Prowl ghosted his hands on Drift’s inner thigh seams. A deep sigh escaped Drift and Drift could no longer hide his plans. “You ever had electricity ran across your doorwings?” he whispered into Prowl’s audial.

“Yes…” Prowl moaned, remembering the feel. “Why?”

“Wait here and you’ll find out,” Drift purred. He didn’t want to leave Prowl but he needed to fetch his toy from a box. The swordsmech moved quickly, his own body whining about the lack of external heat. He pulled out his remote violet wand and turned it on to its second lowest setting. “Stay in place,” he said as his only warning what was about to happen.

Prowl partly failed when the wand zapped a sensor, his back arching minutely into it. It was a wonderful feeling, having electricity run down a sensitive sensor’s circuitry. Drift played with different sensors as he glided across the doorwings, the wand and his other hand moving alongside each other. He stopped when Prowl spoke. “Turn up the intensity,” Prowl ordered as best as he could in his condition. It didn’t sound like much of an order.

Drift obliged, enjoying knowing he had Prowl melting at his hands. With the wand turned up to halfway, he continued his ministrations. Soon he ran into a problem where Prowl’s doorwings started twitching uncontrollably with each zap. He grew frustrated but he knew what to do. “Wait here.”

“Again?”

Drift explained as he moved back to the same box, “Your doorwings are twitching too much and keep nearly hitting me.”

Prowl hummed his disapproval, but it sounded almost like a longing whine. He felt cold.

When Drift returned he said, “Hold still while I attach this to your doorwings.”

Prowl glanced back. “You have a doorwing spreader?”

“This is more of a spoiler spreader,” Drift explained, “for those with flexible spoilers. I think it’ll work on doorwings.”

The thin spreader bar attached easily to each doorwings’ lower edge with its soft clamps, Drift adjusting its length so he had Prowl’s doorwings spread as far as they could go. He was going to have Prowl at his mercy. Returning his wand to Prowl’s sensors, this time he upped the intensity a notch. When he touched down on one doorwing, he licked the other while running his free hand along the captive edge.

Prowl moaned loudly and his doorwings tried moving on their own, but they couldn’t win against the bar. Drift liked that sound and kept teasing Prowl with his glossa, hand, and wand until Prowl’s legs were shifting. Drift realized his pelvis was dangerously close to Prowl’s aft. For fun Drift zapped the seam just above Prowl’s aft and that earned him another moan.

Drift’s voice came out husky as he asked, “Do you like it on your interface panel?”

Prowl was too engrossed in the sensations to say words, but he caught the question well enough to nod. Luckily Drift had enough understanding of what electricity felt like along the interface panel that he knew to turn down the intensity. He ran it along the center of Prowl’s valve cover.

“Nnnngh!” Prowl groaned, his hips rocking back and chasing the wand, his aft landing right into Drift’s hot spike cover. Drift had to send an override code to keep it from opening, but he wasn’t able to prevent himself from rubbing his interface panel cover over Prowl’s after. He ran his wand again across Prowl’s valve covered and enjoyed Prowl’s backward thrust.

“You like that?” Drift whispered.

Prowl didn’t hear him until Drift zapped him again, whispering the question a little louder and closer to his audial. “Do you really have to ask?”

“It’s not too often I run across mechs who like this.”

“Clearly you have not played with an Ops mech like I have.”

“They touch you like this?” Drift zigzagged across Prowl’s panel, and Prowl responded with another mewling noise instead of words. The swordsmech could barely take it and thrust his panel into Prowl’s aft, bumping it forward. He growled and nipped Prowl on the neck.

There was a clicking noise and Prowl’s panels opened up. The sound and heat rolling from Prowl excited Drift and his own spike cover snapped open, pressurizing against Prowl. Drift wasn’t done with the wand yet. He turned it down a little more before nipping Prowl on the neck again, and then turning the wand to outline Prowl’s valve. Prowl withered under the touch, his doorwings shaking the spreader bar. He reached around and ran it along the base of Prowl’s half-pressurized spike. Immediately the spike fully pressurized.

Drift spoke, “I want you.”

“Then use me.”

Drift absently thought that was an interesting choice of words, but he was more focused on turning off and dropping the wand. He pushed slowly into Prowl, the spreader bar pressing against his chest. Drift growled at the resistance and nipped Prowl’s trembling doorwing to hold it still as his hands worked feverishly to get the bar off. When he had it completely off he finished thrusting into Prowl.

Prowl for his part was loving the stretch, getting a feel for Drift’s size. Clearly Drift was either blessed or had a mod because it was no standard spike. His own spike started dripping at the stretch and he could feel the lubrication in his valve drip just as fast.

There was a moment when they both relished the feel of being connected and then Drift started thrusting. His speed picked up the slicker Prowl became until he was thrusting so hard that Prowl’s doorwings were bouncing. Drift could feel the coil of transfluid and he knew he would soon be overloading, but he didn’t want to overload first. Judging by Prowl’s valve calipers, Prowl was close but not quite there. Drift started nipping and licking the back of Prowl’s neck and upper doorwing edges. As Prowl’s calipers tightened down on him Drift could feel his own struggles to deny his overload failing. With one more clamp of his dentae onto Prowl’s doorwing, his transfluid released hot and fast, striking Prowl’s ceiling node. The swordsman cried out and his optics turned static.

Prowl had fought his own release until he felt Drift’s, and he immediately fell over the edge. His optics became static as his doorwings fluttered and he gasped.

At first neither could sense the world around them, but as they came down from their overloads they realized they were both kneeling on the ground, Drift still buried in Prowl. Drift thought about commenting on the excitement they both shared but what popped out first was, “Who was on their knees first?”

Prowl groaned and rolled his helm. “Judging by the way you’re still in me, either you fell a klik before me or we fell together.”

Drift grunted and awkwardly pulled his spike out, Prowl rocking forward to give him room. “Next time I’ll have you on your knees first.”

Prowl wirily smiled. “Next time? Does that mean you’re not leaving Cybertron?”

“No, it means the next time on Cybertron I’m going to make your world fall apart.”


End file.
